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￭ The only thing
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2014-03-12 | |
Imagine their roots...
Abiding deep like hands
With fingers grasping every inch of dirt...
Long, curling nails avoiding stones,
And bones, and rotting earthworms.
Mean tentacles with disrespect
For any other creature needing soil
And water; dark tenants from another
You cut the leaves, the spreading branches,
And everything under the sun,
To leave the root, alone reminder
Of an embrace too frail to last...
When the last bell shall have had tolled its laughter,
And all the birds will have had nested anyway,
Torn out, the crown of roots shall tell the story
Of who we are beneath the grass...
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